The Shadowed Hero
by TheAmazingKatrona
Summary: John Watson has always been the unnoticed one in his duo with Sherlock Holmes. For once he just wants to be noticed, to be the hero of his story. But when the time comes that he needs to be the hero, because Sherlock isn't there to be one, is John really ready? And is it something he really wants? Even in these circumstances?
1. Midnight Calls

**JOHN**  
John Watson: Blogger, doctor, former soldier in the Afghanistan war, and friend of London's infamous Sherlock Holmes.

You could say that John was often shadowed by Sherlock's success. You could also say that everyone casually overlooked John and his contributions, focusing only on Sherlock, "The main man".

And in a reality, you'd be correct.

The fact of the matter was that nobody really noticed John. Nobody stopped him in the streets of London for help, nobody took his picture when out and about, no paparazzi stopped him as soon as he stepped out the house.

John was the unnoticed sidekick. But he didn't mind that. In fact he rather enjoyed his position as the discredited companion. It allowed him more freedom. Nobody pestered him or bothered him. Any fame he had didn't outshine everything else about him. He was free to do as he pleased. But maybe, just sometimes, he craved the attention his taller friend got. Maybe just once he wanted to be the hero that people thought Sherlock was when a case was solved. Maybe just once he wanted to step out of the shadows and be in the spotlight, with Sherlock unnoticed.

Just for once in his life...he wanted to be recognized.

John rolled over in his bed and sighed. He couldn't keep thinking like this. It was selfish of him, he was being the exact same selfish prat that Sherlock could be sometim-A lot of the time...

Sherlock...that all anyone thinks about lately. Ever since Moriarty came back its all anyone thought about. Sherlock and Moriarty. No mention of John, the man who had nearly been killed by Moriarty at the pool, the man who had been so damaged by Moriarty's actions and Sherlock's response at St Bart's. When his best friend had-

No! He couldn't think of that. Even when it was fake, he couldn't think about it. It hurt too much...even now. Seeing Sherlock on the ground...dead...bleeding.

John turned over again, starting to sweat quite a bit at his recollection of the whole thing. Mary stirred in her sleep beside him but didn't wake. Thank God. She'd go absolutely mental at him for waking her, especially when it wasn't something to do with the baby. Both of them hardly got any sleep because of all the night time shifts of baby care.

John's phone blinked and flashed on the nightstand, indicating messages received. John sighed and tilted the phone just enough to see whatever message he had got. Of course it was him. The one man who would even think it was alright to text him at 2 in the morning.

 ** _John, I need your assistance. Come to the flat as soon as possible. Now preferably.  
-SH_**


	2. A New Day, A New Case

**SHERLOCK**  
Sherlock paced the room at 221B Baker Street. His heart thumping, the blood racing through his veins, manic hair with an equally manic smile spread across his face. A new case had arisen. A new case to analyze and solve and keep him from the boredom of being alone.

Alone...ever since John had left he was alone in the flat. He hadn't bothered to find a new flatmate, no. He couldn't bring himself to, nobody was better than John, nobody would be as good as John was, wouldn't be able to tolerate him, wouldn't be able to solve things with him, wouldn't be JOHN.

He stopped at the window. Maybe his excitement was mixed with something else...joy? No no no, worry? Pfft no. Wait...nerves? What was he nervous about? It couldn't be..?

No. Sherlock shook that thought out of his mind. He wouldn't allow himself to care more than he should, no more than he was needed to. But-

 ***knock knock***

Sherlock practically jumped downstairs to answer the door. It must have been John, come to help. But why was he rushing so much? He opened the door to see John standing there, of course looking a bit annoyed but still secretly glad. There was no point hiding from Sherlock. He could see everything in the way you acted, the way you spoke, the way your eyes glimmered. Like the way John's eyes sparkled and danced in the street light. Dancing, shining and shimmering, casting off the moonlight, burning with a deep fire. Oh how Sherlock could just lose himself in them...

"Um..Sherlock?"

Sherlock snapped back into reality, realizing he had stared too long. John stood confused for a moment before shrugging it off and making his way upstairs to what used to be his home. What SHOULD be his home. With Sherlock...happy together.

 _STOP IT SHERLOCK_. He mentally noted to be rid of these thoughts and distractions soon. It would only lead to disaster. If Moriarty found out he would surely come after John again. He couldn't let that happen. Not again.

"So Sherlock, what is it then? New case? Moriarty leaving threats?" John sat in his chair, examining the room. He smiled. It was slight but there, clearly remembering the times he spent here.  
"Even better John!" Sherlock swiftly glided over to the chair and leaned over John, maybe a bit too close for comfort but John was used to this. The way he would get all excited over a case, "A new case directly involving Moriarty but it's a series of low, petty crimes, nothing too big, surely to come out as a huge plot! Just small thefts and muggings but equivalent all the same and each with a letter. One single letter at each crime scene to gather, obviously some sort of code, maybe an anagram, leaving us hints, clues, until the final moment and then BANG it'll all become clear!"

"So what do we know so far?"

"Oh nothing too significant, all seems normal, caught the robbers and muggers, one's not caught but they'll be at his house later on and the only letters are **O** , **N** and **R**. Oh yes John, a new case, a new day, and a nice little puzzle to top it all off. It's like a cake!" Sherlock had jumped to his feet, scanning the outside world eagerly, watching the new crimes and puzzles rise with the moon as it shone overhead.

"Mycroft would be jealous." John sniggered behind him. Sherlock joined in imagining his brother. How bitter he would be.

Yes, Sherlock could sense he was going to have fun. Lots of fun indeed. All the more better with John at his side.


	3. Just Another Homeless Guy

**SHERLOCK**  
Sherlock poked his head around the corner, glancing over at the man rooting through a garbage can. Nothing really of importance but Sherlock couldn't help but linger and watch...wondering WHAT he was doing.

Sherlock had deduced earlier that day that this alley was where the next crime would be. Of course the word **DANGER** was already spelt out, that was always the way with Moriarty and his games. He was always about danger and fun, but this..THIS was different. It didn't look like a crime. It was just a homeless man looking through some garbage...right?

"Uh...Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to John who stood beside him at the wall. He seemed cold, even with the think woollen jumper he was wearing. He didn't seem best pleased that he was here rather than with Mary at some "Anniversary Dinner" thing. Didn't know why of course. _I mean, you can go without dinner._ Sherlock mentally cast the thought away and nodded to John to let him speak.

"What are we doing here?"

"We're investigating."

"Investigating what?"

"A crime."

"But there's been no crime for us to-"

 **JOHN**

Sherlock held out his hand for John to be quiet. John knew he could trust his friend in what he was doing, plus he was always this arrogant. He'd gotten used to it by now. The man - now clearly quite old looking - shuffled away from the bin and out onto the street. He was nothing extraordinary, just a homeless man rooting through a bin, but the uneasy feelings in the pit of Sherlock's stomach wouldn't leave. It unsettled him greatly.

Sherlock moved towards the bin and so John followed closely behind. The cold air combated with John's inner warmth and made John uncomfortable. He was here in the cold winter night when he could be at Angelo's for his anniversary but no, he was in an alley, in the dark with Sherlock. He wished this would be over soon as Sherlock went through the bin, examining every bit of trash and litter. Every bottle and bit of paper. Every single-

 _What the hell was that?_ John had to be seeing things. He had to be tired. _There couldn't actually be-_

Before John could even finish his thought everything had gone dark.


	4. John Sherlock!

**SHERLOCK**  
Sherlock didn't know what had happened. He saw the light and acted on an impulse. Without a second thought he flung himself on top of John before the bomb exploded and killed them both. Now everything was fuzzy, blurry and all a bit too...

Dark.

He could hear a voice - desperate and pleading with him - and smell the ash and smoke in the air. It wasn't a huge explosion given the kind of smell the smoke let off and the fact that no sirens were wailing yet, it was obvious it wasn't a huge bomb. But everything was hazy and clearly destroyed. He could see a figure standing over him, shaking him violently and he could feel droplets of rain on his face. No, not rain, there was no impact of water anywhere else on his body so that meant tears. Tears from the person above him but who could it possibly be that was crying over him? _Lestrade? No. Mycroft? Pfft please. Molly...no this was clearly a male from the deep sobs and coughs...John...?_

 _Oh God, John!_

Sherlock tried to focus, spinning his head round to his surroundings. Catastrophic damage to the bin, rubbish everywhere but no bodies lying around. The man above him was definitely John, Sherlock concluded as he now smelled the strong aftershave John put on before coming out here. Surely to impress Mary. Well, it was definitely impressing Sherlock...  
 _  
Not now idiot!_ Sherlock mentally snapped at himself. He tried to focus. He tried to get up, he had to get up but John just breathed a sigh of relief and hugged him close, still sobbing into his shoulder.

 **JOHN**  
John hugged Sherlock as close to him as possible. When the bomb had gone off, John felt a weight upon him he hadn't felt before. At first he thought it was rubble but it was flung off him when he landed. He followed it's movement through the smoke seeing it move and coil into a ball as it impacted. The object on top of John had been warm and as John stood to go to it - the world around him twisting and turning violently - he had seen the familiar scarf and coat and the blood matted hair. Probably a head wound which meant possible concussion, if so he would be in and out of conciousness for sure. The doctor kneeled, shaking Sherlock awake as the dust around him calmed and smoke turned upwards towards the darker sky.

Fire simmered behind him and so he gathered himself up with a rather limp Sherlock on his shoulder, making incomprehensible noises. Tumbling out of the alleyway into the night as he made his way back too 221B Baker Street, John sighed and shook his head trying to get the rest of his world to clear up. Sherlock hated hospitals, but John wanted Sherlock to be okay...

He needed Sherlock to be okay.


	5. Little Touches And Whispers

**SHERLOCK**  
Sherlock assumed that he had passed out after John had picked him up. He didn't remember getting here or whatever he might have said. He didn't remember rushing into a building, he didn't remember changing into a robe and he certainly didn't remember getting into bed.

But even with all this strangeness he didn't have to open his eyes and be blinded by white walls to figure out where he was. That damn bleeping told him straight away: St Bart's Hospital.

Slowly and surely he curled and moved each limb: _Neck - check. Shoulders - double check. Back - sore but he'd live. Legs - fine and dandy. Feet - again bruised but it would surely wear off. Left arm - fine. Right arm - heavy?_

Wait...no. His HAND was heavy. His arm felt fine - stiff but fine. His hand however felt...a bit..small.

Not small, confined. Concealed. Something was in his hand, clenching it - albeit a bit painfully - tight. It was warm, soft and slightly damp. _A rag? No. A ball? Ridiculous, of course not. A hand? Likely.._

Sherlock opened his eyes, of course blinded by the whiteness of the room. _Stupid really_ , Sherlock thought, _they should have cream walls or something, stop blinding their patients_. After adjusting Sherlock craned his neck to peek to his right hand and - sure enough - there was a second hand attached. That hand was attached to a green jumper...shirt collar...and then John's head.

For a moment - a LONG moment - Sherlock's mind went into overload. John, JOHN WATSON, was holding his hand, asleep in the blue plastic chair. He hated to admit but all Sherlock could do was stare. Stopping at a complete halt as his mind malfunctioned and slowed.  
 _  
So this is the normal speed for people..slow, slow, SLOOOOWWWW._

John stirred in his sleep, his face screwing up slightly as he shifted. He grunted and stopped, the peaceful expression returning onto his face. He looked...nice. No, cute. _Cute was the word people used wasn't it? For faces like that_.

"Cute..." Sherlock murmured. It felt right to his lips - to call him cute and how it felt right. How a word felt right he wasn't sure, but it did.

John stirred again, shifting but never letting go of Sherlock's pale bony hand compared to John's scarred and darker hand. The screwed up face returned for a little longer and John mumbled something.  
 _  
Knew it, he's a slight sleep talker._

John murmured again, twice, three times and a fourth time louder the same noise and syllables and-

"...Sherlock..."  
 _  
...WHAT?_

And then Sherlock's brain officially went out of it's tightened screws and collapsed into oblivion as he lay back down, gripping his soldier's hand and smiling like a complete idiot.


	6. A Message Revealed

**SHERLOCK**  
Finally, back on the horse. Out of the hospital, focused and alert. No crimes have been happening recently so Moriarty must be finished, therefore all the letters are revealed. All of them were sprawled out on the table, jumbled and messed up as Sherlock examined them and tried to put them in order.

But where was John? He went out ages ago...

John...His soft hands, his hair, his eyes, his body, his-

 _NO! Snap out of it! Stop it, FOCUS._ Closing in on the letters. Sherlock arranged them as he saw fit. **DANGER** was obviously one of the words, it was just Moriarty's style wanting to make it dramatic as physically possible. Typically boring.

The tea had gone cold about 10 minutes ago but that didn't stop him from drinking it. It helped Sherlock think and focus as he sat back and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was no longer in my living-room but in the grand dining room of the Mind Palace. Sherlock looked left and walked out of the wooden archway leading to the stairs. Up and up and up he went to the very top of the building to his evidence room. The letters hung by string on a board in bold red fonts and of course, in the corner of the room, John was standing by watching and encouraging Sherlock with words of praise.

He must have stood in there for about 20 minutes more just staring at the word **DANGER.** John's gaze burned into Sherlock's back as he struggled to resist just hugging John and have him close to his own body. That would have to be for later. Right now he HAD. TO. FOCUS.

Another 5 minutes of staring and Sherlock was ready to pull his hair out. Damn John and his distractions. Couldn't he just stand somewhere else? But in his anger, Sherlock saw something he didn't before and started compiling a sentence with all the letters. Only to wish he hadn't.  
 **  
JOHN WATSON'S IN DANGER.**

Sherlock snapped his eyes open in fear as he recalled what he read in the evidence room. Back in his own living-room he arranged the words like before to make sure he hadn't added an extra letter or two. To his dismay they still spelt that sentence. Just then his mobile buzzed.  
 _  
I'm assuming you've figured it out now haven't you deary? Well, come and get him Sherlock.  
P.S. You might want to hurry. Poor little Johnny here isn't looking too good ;) x  
-JM_


	7. Twist In The Road

**SHERLOCK**  
The alleyway was unsurprisingly dark, dingy and quiet. No question about it, he was trying to scare Sherlock but he was obviously clever enough to know that it wouldn't scare Sherlock. Sherlock tried not to feel and often succeeded, but when it came to John...it was like Sherlock's inner self came out of it's stony cell. But he couldn't think of that now. To be stone was essential in this transaction.

A cat ran by Sherlock's leg in a frantic scramble to escape to alley. Sherlock turned, resulting in a weird hit in the face from his scarf but he didn't let it phase him. He saw the familiar figure in the shadow of the light from the street - standing, watching him like a hawk observing it's prey, ready to strike at any second.

"So you actually turned up then? Wellllll..." The figure snickered with disgust and stepped out. His black coat flapped in the wind and his gelled hair had betrayed him and let a single strand out as it flew with the wind. Moriarty looked at Sherlock with that same misty coldness he had every other time - eyes dead and lifeless, but his mouth smiling and somehow deeply frowning at the same time. "I'm disappointed, to be honest. I thought you'd be more fun rather than just storm out here into the open." He smirked once again taking a few steps dangerously closer. One gloved hand snaked it's way out of his deep pocket and, of course, in it's palm there was a gun. Moriarty didn't point it at Sherlock but it had the same impression nevertheless.

"Shame. For you at least."

"And what about you then?"

"Oh well..." He paused, seeming to take a deep breath, always taking his time, calculating and milking every drop out of his situations. "I wouldn't worry about me. I'd be worrying about you."

"Enough with the games Moriarty." The venom practically dripped from Sherlock's mouth as he stepped back in disgust at Moriarty's looming presence and closeness. "Where's John? What have you done with him?"

"John? Oh John's fine. I don't actually know where he is."

"Stop with the games you-" Sherlock snapped but Moriarty simply held up a hand.

"I'm telling you the truth Sherly. I don't have Johnny boy. Glad you got my messages though. Brought you right to me."

Sherlock shuddered at the fool he had been made by this pitiful excuse for a man. A quick look over told Sherlock there was no evidence he was lying. Which meant...he didn't have John.

"But really, Sherlock!" Moriarty looked to his gun before putting it away and then looked up beyond Sherlock's head. "I really would start worrying about yourself now."

Before Sherlock could properly process the words just spoken he felt a blow to the back of his head. Blunt but enough to knock him down in an instant. His vision went hazy as he tried to clamber back onto his feet. Moriarty laughed, striding over and slamming his foot down onto Sherlock's face, knocking him out cold.

 **JOHN**  
John entered the flat, not bothered about the noise he made with the door slam due to Sherlock's insomnia - well actually no, just the fact that he never actually slept. Even so, John entered and was greeted with silence. And while, yes, that was normal, it was somehow...too quiet, even for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock's bedroom door was open and dark. The bed perfectly made and everything in it's place. "No experimenting in the bedrooms" had been John's rule and apparently Sherlock had stuck to it even with John's absence. The now-"guest"-bedroom was also empty, painfully so. The bed was unmade but neat and the cupboards were all bare as the street-lamp from outside illuminated the room. Going towards the living-room, John was cautious in case Sherlock was in his mind palace or something. The shopping bags, with the food Sherlock would need, in John's hands were put down and he slowly creeped into the...empty room. No experiments were bubbling away and no Sherlock was lying on the couch, deep into his palace.

John turned on the spot a bit confused, looking all about the room in case he had missed something. That's when he spotted the bold letters on the table. **JOHN WATSON'S IN DANGER**.

Despite the rather worrying message, John was fairly certain he was fine. _I mean I am right here..._ "Sherlock?" John called.

Nothing. No response.

It was then that a thought struck John. _What if Sherlock believed the message?_

John paced toward the living-room door and looked out to see Sherlock's coat and scarf absent from their post.

"Damnit Sherlock! You're meant to be observational you idiot." John huffed as he scrambled to the door and pulled it open and went back into the cold night. "Well if that was true you would have heard me bloody say 'I'm just going out to buy YOU food since you clearly don't want to yourself. I'm not letting you starve to death..." John shrugged his coat further up his body as the wind picked up and blew all the warmth from John's body out of him.

About an hour later John was ready to give up. He had scowered London in search of his lanky companion with no luck. With a frustrated sigh John swept his hair back, only to have it flip right back into his face. "Damnit Sherlock. It's freezing out here, you'll die of pneumonia out here you-" John's hair persistently went into his eyes, cutting him short of his rant. He pouted and glared burning holes into his own hair as it swished in front of his face. Blowing it out of his face, and losing his attempts of the to the wind, John blindly kept walking forward. When he again let out a muffled scream of anger he looked down at his frostbitten feet when something caught his eye. Something was ahead of him on the street-lamp flapping in the wind. Something familiar and something awfully blue.

Stepping forward and delicately unwrapping it from the frosty street-light John took Sherlock's iconic blue scarf in his gloved hands. Worry etched itself onto John's tired features as the wind blew a small piece of paper on the other side of the scarf persistently. John turned it and read the note.  
 _  
I think you and I need to have a little talk and a date Dr Watson x  
-JM_

John read the small written address on the paper and cringed at the red patch on the corner of the paper. If it was Sherlock's...

John clenched the scarf tightly in his fist and looked up at the sky angrily. Why had this been allowed to happen to Sherlock? To his friend, his partner, his detective? He looked back down to the forgotten garment of clothing in his hand and, without a second thought he tied around his own neck before making his way down to the Thames River.  
 _  
Sherlock, I will save you, I promise. And I swear to you, Moriarty, I will find you and you will rue the day you messed with us._


	8. Unexpected Relations

**JOHN**  
The street looked normal. People milled about outside the pubs just across the road, a couple was entering the block of flats next door and some other men were battling a frosty car open to take them home. Looking up at the block of flats it just looked like a normal building with a few dingy looking windows, but John knew one of them had Sherlock in it. He steeled himself and strode forward to the door, entering the stairwell and slowly making his way up.

After heading up three flights of stairs John had become face to face with a polished black oak door. The golden number 13 was glistening on the front and the light in the hallway kept flickering on and off. Knocking hard and loud John waited for a reply. Almost immediately a man in a hoodie appeared through the gap in the doorway. He narrowed his eyes and looked John up and down.

"John Watson?"

"Yeah. That's me."

The man nodded before opening the door fully and inviting John in. John cautiously entered the flat, watching the man as he rubbed his nose, flashed a yellowed grin and then promptly left the flat, locking John in before he predictably went down stairs and away from here. John turned back forward and walked further into the hallway which again looked totally normal: White walls, framed pictures, even a small mirror just above a cabinet. But turning the corner John saw the open door that led into a very dark room.

No doubt this is where Moriarty wanted John to go. And so John obliged.

Entering the room and closing the door behind him John was blinded. Pitch black surrounded him and all he could hear was a clock ticking away somewhere on his left. It seemed most of the furniture had been moved out as John could not feel anything around him, but before he could take a step forward he was certain he saw something glimmer in the corner.

"Hello John. Long time no see?"

John stopped short as the familiar voice seemed to surround him.

"First off, thanks for following my orders oh so well." A clap resounded off the walls. "I can see why Sherlock likes you...But I'd really like it if you dropped your weapons. I doubt we would want Sherlock getting any more hurt than he already is..."

The light was blinding as it clicked on to his right. The light came from an old-fashioned click-on ceiling light, where next to it stood Moriarty, examining John with a frown. John forced himself not to run forward to Moriarty and kill him right there and then as he grudgingly took out his gun and threw it across the floor into the darkness. After all Moriarty was right, he couldn't risk Sherlock's life here.

"And!" Moriarty stated, looking at John with a smirk. "Your knife too. Don't think I'm so easy to fool John."

John sighed and took out the knife from his sock, also throwing that away into the dark rather grudgingly.

"So, John." He began. "John Watson: Afghanistan soldier; blogger; recognised doctor among a small community; newly wed to Mary...How is the little assassin anyway?"

"You leave her out of this" John growled. "This is between you and me."

John could see the small smile that grew on his face while Moriarty began speaking, pure desire oozing out of his mouth. "Oh feisty. I like the feisty ones." He chuckled and John swore he felt something brush against his shoulder. John turned and saw nothing behind him before he heard another small click. Turning around again John saw the light was off and Moriarty was in the blackness with him. "They prove to be quite the challenge." Moriarty stopped right in front of him and John could feel his hot breath against his own face and could see small shimmers in front of him, dancing about as Moriarty looked at his face.

"What do you want with Sherlock?" John said, albeit a bit more shakily than intended.

Moriarty laughed. "Who says I want him?"

"If you didn't, why capture him? Why not just capture me?"

"Because that would have been too easy! Would have spoiled all the fun!" Moriarty advanced causing John to slowly walk backwards. "And plus I needed Sherly dear out the way if I wanted you."

"Well-" John grunted as he was pushed back onto the wall. "What do you want with me then?" The hot breath was back but even closer. John could almost feel Moriarty's face on his own as he lay as flat as possible onto the surface.

"Oh I think you know." His face moved right beside his ear, whispering softly and almost teasing him. "You see, I thought Sherlock was interesting and it was fun to play with him for a while..." John felt fingers delicately brush against his stomach and go upwards towards his chest where they wrapped themselves around John's collar, brushing against his skin. "But you, _you!_ Well, you were always fun. Always fighting to be the good guy when I know inside there's a little devil wanting to burst out. You're a rule breaker John. A bad boy. And you are what keeps me interested." John felt something wet brush against his ear before moving an inch from his face. "And I know that Mary just doesn't please you that much. Last time I saw you I saw the look in your eyes. The fingers twitching. The tongue licking your lips every time you looked at me or Sherly...You're a dirty boy John. Just the way I like them."

Before John knew what was happening something was pressed against his lips. His eyes opened in shock as John realised what Moriarty was doing: Kissing him. And surprisingly, his lips were quite soft.

When John didn't respond, Moriarty stopped, breathing a bit heavily. "Come on Johnny boy." The desire in his voice was full blown showing now. "I know you'll enjoy this if you let yourself. I know you want to..." Moriarty purred before sinking down. John stood confused before the same softness attacked his neck. It was exploring him and it stopped across his pulsing veins for a moment before biting hard on it, making John hiss in pain. The wound stung and John knew he was bleeding, but Moriarty lapped it up skilfully with his tongue. He took another long lick up to just under John's jaw line, just to the side of his chin and sucked sucking and kissing there. Right at his sensitive spot.

As if right on cue, John's body acted without him and a small moan left his mouth, shocking both John and Moriarty it seemed. John's hand flew up to his mouth in horror whereas Moriarty smiled, never moving from his neck.

"See?" Moriarty purred. "I told you you'd like it."

He started kissing and sucking again, surely to leave a mark there afterwards, but with much more vigour than before right on John's sensitive spot. John bit his lip until he felt the blood trickle down from his lip to his chin but even with all that he couldn't stop the small gasps and moans that escaped him. His nerves felt like they were on fire and his brain was in overload. He knew this was wrong on so many levels - cheating, with a MAN who was his ENEMY - but he couldn't deny it:

Holy SHIT this felt more amazing than any girl he'd ever slept with.

With a certain roughness he pushed Moriarty's head away from his neck, which rewarded him with the sound of both men panting and no doubt Moriarty was grinning wildly. John knew it was wrong. John knew it was stupid and he should be focused but he couldn't deny it.

This was GOOD.

And he WANTED this.

"Something wrong, Johnny?" Moriarty's husky voice was the last breaking point. John grabbed Moriarty's shoulders and pulled him towards his face, kissing him with a hungry passion. Jim just chuckled before kissing back and licking John's lip, begging for entrance. Now it was Johns turn to smirk as he accepted and the two men battled for dominance, their tongues exploring every part of each other's mouths. John felt Jim's - again, surprisingly soft - hands grab John's and pin them either side of John, giving no means of escape. John just replied with his own hands as they snaked around his current lovers waist and into his hair, pulling the two even closer.

John felt the painfully obvious bulge brush against his own embarrassing one and after the first contact both men had to break away from their battle in order to cry out in bliss at the touch. Moriarty hung his head down as he panted and grinded against John in desperation for more. John sensed the moment of weakness as Moriarty let his hands go loose for a second. In the moment John quickly whipped them around so he was the one pinning the other to the wall. He could see Jim's face a bit more clearly now. His eyes were burning with lust and his hair was perfectly messed from the gelled back state it was in before.

Without another thought John smirked and attacked Moriarty's neck, biting and kissing as Jim wriggled under his grasp, shaking with pure delight at the sensations. John pushed against him, constantly rubbing the two against each other. They were both too far gone to care any more about their relationship as enemies and both simply had to finish. And so with a final hard push John gasped as he finally released and experienced the most pleasure he ever had done before.

He was sure these trousers were now ruined with his own shameful stain but he didn't care right now as he felt Jim ride out his own paradise.

"Oh...Johnnnn." Moriarty's head slumped back against the wall and he closed his eyes "That was the best thing I've ever done with someone else."

John couldn't help but silently agree. Even as the bliss wore out and shame slowly wore in, he fished into his pocket for the item Moriarty hadn't expected him to have. Flipping him over again so Moriarty's face was to the wall he moved him ever so slightly right so he was nearer where he wanted.

"Oh John! I didn't know you were THAT naughty"

"Yeah well...there are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Before Moriarty could react John pulled his wrist to the pipe next to him and cuffed him to it. Stepping back John watched as Moriarty tugged on his hand once and then laughed.

"Oh John you are a kinky little minx aren't you..." Jim looked back at John with his eyes half-lidded. He shamelessly looked John up and down, licking his lips. John could only breathe heavily in response, still recovering from all the adrenaline pumping through his body. "Oh well. It's to be expected. Although I didn't realize you wanted to go that far already." He smirked, "You could have at least bought me dinner first."

John winced as he heard the lust still tracing Jim's voice. He fumbled towards the door's general direction and opened it after his search succeeded. Before stepping out however, Jim spoke again, causing John to turn and look.

"I promise you this, John. We will meet again and it'll be better than you ever can imagine." Moriarty winked at John and John scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him and letting out a shaky breath.

 _Did I seriously just do...that? With him?_

John shook his head before checking the other rooms for Sherlock, pushing his shame and guilt aside to be dealt with later. How he was going to explain the love bite forming on his neck?

He didn't know but he knew Mary and Sherlock would be pissed when they found out.

 _ **AUTHOR'S NOTE: I AM SO SORRY IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED**_


	9. Hiding

**JOHN**  
After looking in the next room John found Sherlock, who was thankfully unconscious. John didn't want to have to face a beaten up Sherlock when he probably would have heard EVERYTHING in the next room. The hospital discharged him the next morning with only a few bruises here and there to even show he had been in that apartment. As for John, well, he wore jumpers non-stop for a week while the love-bite formed and disappeared. Of course people asked about why he was wearing them when it was relatively warm, and Mary often asked why he was always going to bed well after she did.

At 221B John stared at himself in the bathroom mirror inspecting his neck. The mark had vanished. Any evidence of his night with Jim was destroyed - John had thrown out the boxers and trousers he wore that night to make sure he never had to see them and be reminded of his lust filled activities. John frowned at himself and his appearance. First he goes and cheats, and now he looked tired and worn down. The bags under his eyes and constant grimace on his face was evidence enough. Mary surprisingly didn't notice his change in behaviours in the last week but Sherlock was annoying as always about it.

"JOHN!"

John sighed, hoping he was just imagining Sherlock shouting his name.

"Jooohhhnnn!"

Nope. Duty called. John pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance before leaving the bathroom. He trudged towards the living-room and leaned against the door frame.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Have you seen my latest bacteria sample anywhere?" Sherlock asked while trashing the drawers in the living-room. Like it was going to be there of all places.

"It's in the cupboard where you left it." John huffed before turning to leave.

"John wait"

John sighed once more to himself before turning back to the room. Sherlock had turned to face John and was closely examining him through his eyes, which looked awfully grey lately. His blue dressing-gown was draped over him and tied in a hurry as it seemed, as it hung off of Sherlock's shoulder in a messy manner. John did his own examination of Sherlock after he saw the slight dark circles under Sherlock's eyes. Sleep deprivation? Probably. It would have been expected considering it was Sherlock. His hair was awfully ruffled after just getting out of bed and his PJ trousers hung loosely on Sherlock's hips. One side had slipped down slightly revealing the start of a V-line towards Sherlock's-

 _NO!_ John mentally shouted at himself, Not now!

"John?" Sherlock murmured after a minute.

"Hm?" John humphed in reply.

"What's been troubling you lately? Ever since you got me from Moriarty you've been acting..." He thought for a minute, "...oddly."

"Oddly?"

"Well for one you wore those god awful jumpers for a week straight even though you were obviously hot due to the flushed condition of your face and the sweat pouring out of you and now you wear shorter shirts without explanation. Two, you've been going to bed at a later time than before which is obvious I mean look at the bags under your eyes and your attention to detail is being affected as you haven't put as much attention into your hair as you normally do. Third you also appear to not be eating as much. Fourth you're constantly distracted. Want me to continue?" John's silence was enough for Sherlock's answer. "So...what is troubling you?"

John pursed his lips for a moment trying to figure out what he could say to make Sherlock content with his answer. Nothing got past Sherlock easily. "I'm just..not feeling well lately. Just a bit of a cold or the flu I think".

"In July?"

John paused at the stupid fact that it was way too hot lately being summer and all to get a cold now. "Well...all those nights spent outside in the relative cold with you weren't helping were they?"

Sherlock's eye's squinted at John, and his dark eyebrows furrowed. Eventually he murmured a quick "OK" before heading back towards the kitchen to check the cupboard for his samples. John exhaled heavily. He knew by Sherlock's face that he didn't buy John's excuse but he'd left it alone for now and that was good enough for John. Quickly John grabbed his jacket and shouted that he was going out - which he hoped to God that Sherlock heard this time.

He managed to leave just quickly enough to avoid a rather nasty sounding explosion coming from the flat.


End file.
